All of the mysteries exceeding me are no more; I am an open book for the world to see. I cannot wear this mask of uncertainty for much longer; I've hid behind its' plasticity foolishly. There are stories that are mine now that I do not want; my dead, alcoholic father, loving a woman who wasn't capable of love and living with these tiresome psychologies. I am wiser than all of this but the stories are still mine. There's nothing I can do now except build a bigger, better world based off of knowing what I know now.
I am not concerned with love anymore; I am not bothered by why we fall in or out of it. I am concerned with life and what I mean by that is finally living my life. I've waited years to feel alive, to fill these voids that puncture my lungs and break my spine. For years, I've wanted to breathe in and breathe out the crippling fears of losing control.
I loved my father. I love my mother. I would die for them. I have died for them. I've sacrificed my happiness for the sake of theirs only to find they were both too inadequate to notice. People love us the best they possibly can due to who they are and some are not capable of the love we feel we deserve. It is OK and life will go on. At some point in our lives we will all learn we cannot change people and that nothing we could have done would have saved them. People can only save themselves.
I cherish the love I hold because I know it is beautiful; I know that no one else in this world will think it is as beautiful and as sacred as I do. I am good with that. My best friend would say people come into our lives for a reason. People are like seasons; summer, spring, winter, fall...I am grateful for all seasons.
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